


Deal in the Six | Friendly Face Cards

by TrulyMightyPotato



Series: Royal Flush [18]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol Mentions, Gen, Organized Crime, Speakieasies, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-16
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2019-04-23 14:10:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14334153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrulyMightyPotato/pseuds/TrulyMightyPotato
Summary: It was only a matter of time before Felix needed Tom to bodyguard him at a speakeasy. This one just so happens to have a lot of the answers Tom was looking for.





	Deal in the Six | Friendly Face Cards

It was official: there was no getting out of being Kjellberg’s bodyguard now.

Tom looked over at his employer, then at the building they’d come to a stop in front of.

“Are you sure? It’s-”

“It’s illegal, yes, I know.” Kjellberg shrugged, then adjusted his jacket. “That didn’t stop me before, and it won’t stop me now—nor anyone else who’s really determined.” Then, soft enough Tom almost didn’t hear, “I knew I should have brought Ken instead.”

“I’m not going to abandon you,” Tom protested. “I know my job.”

“Good.” Felix opened the door of the car and stepped out. “Coming?”

Tom made a face—this was a terrible idea, coming to a speakeasy—and followed.

If he was completely honest with himself, as concerned as he was about it, he was just as eager to see into this part of Boston: it would finally allow him a glimpse into to the life Mark had led… before he died.

Kjellberg murmured a password at the alley door, something Tom didn’t quite catch, and the two were allowed in.

Inside was an entirely different world than outside: soft jazz music filled the air from a band in the far corner; a wide variety of people from all walks of life were at the tables, filling the air with gentle chatter and laughter; the clink of glasses, light shining off drinks and jewels alike, and the unmistakable smell of alcohol filled the rest of Tom’s senses.

Kjellberg smiled, though it seemed a bit strained, and made his way over to a single table near the musicians.

Tom, a little confused (and more than a little in awe) followed. If this was what Freddy’s had been like—and he could most certainly picture it now—no wonder people had gone there.

“Felix,” a woman’s voice greeted warmly. “We weren’t sure you were going to come.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Molls.” A pause, and Kjellberg glanced over his shoulder, eyes catching Tom’s as he caught up.

“I see,” the woman said, more serious this time. “Have a seat.”

Kjellberg complied, pulling up a seat at the table.

His movement revealed who he’d been talking to: the woman in the picture with Mark’s speakeasy friends.

Madame Foxglove.

And the man sitting next to her, eyes fixed on Tom with an intense expression, was none other than Wade Barnes.

“You’re- you’re not dead.” The words tumbled out of Tom’s mouth before he could stop them, a strange mix of shock and relief rushing through him.

Wade raised an eyebrow and took a sip of his drink.

“No thanks to you,” Wade muttered against the rim of his glass.

Tom winced.

“Take a seat, Fischbach,” Madame Foxglove said, leaning forwards in her chair.

Tom sat.

“This is shaping up to me needing a drink,” Kjellberg muttered. “I don’t suppose Ethan’s here?”

Madame Foxglove shook her head. “You and I both know nothing could make him wait at another speakeasy, not after what happened.” She leaned back in her chair.

Tom blinked. “Ethan Nestor? I thought he died with M- my brother.”

“No. He, Amy, and Kathryn all got out before the fire was set. I hid them for a while, until things had calmed down enough.”

If he could talk to them, maybe find out what happened-

“They’ve all left town by now. Ethan went back home, and Amy and Kathryn went to go lay low for a while.”

“Are they doing okay?” Kjellberg asked.

“I mean, as well as any of us, I suppose.”

“Tyler just got back from visiting Ethan, so he’d know best, but I don’t think he could make it tonight,” Wade said. “...Or he couldn’t bear the thought of being here.”

“I keep expecting to see Mark walking around in that ridiculous pink suit of his,” Kjellberg agreed.

Tom ignored them in favor of Foxglove, who was the only one who even seemed willing to help him get the answers he needed.

“They got out before the fire? Why didn’t Mark?”

“...Between Mark setting the fire and getting one half of the Boston Bumblers out, the building collapsed on him.” She shook her head. “That’s all I know.”

Tom blinked.

“He started the fire? Why- why would he burn the Tiny Box down?”

“You know the law,” Wade said. “So did he.”

Tom crossed his arms unhappily, does his best to ignore the guilt that had welled up at those words.

“So Detective Patrick was right, then.”

“He was,” Foxglove said. “And Mark did what he felt he had to to protect you and your mothers.” She sighed. “Even if it cost him much more than he thought it would.”

“What do you mean- what did he save us from?” They were still scorned in most circles, and now they didn’t have the Tiny Box, and Mark was dead with no chance of parole. No visitation rights. No chance of seeing him smile again.

In no world was that better.

“I didn’t say he was right, Fischbach. Just that he thought he was.” Her eyes flicked behind Tom.

“Am I... interrupting something?” a young man’s voice said hesitantly.

“Always,” Wade said, and, “It’s alright,” Foxglove said.

“Uh.”

“Just sit down,” Wade said, yanking out the chair next to him.

The young man sat down, and something about his face nagged at something in Tom’s brain.

“Hi,” the young man said, eyebrows scrunching together as he looked at Tom. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I, uh, sorry?”

The young man frowned and leaned back in his chair, but Tom didn’t miss his murmured, “He looks like Mark.”

“JP, did you see her?” Foxglove asked.

“Yeah, she’s coming down the street.” The young man—JP—uncrossed his arms. “Do you want me to lead her here?”

“Yes.”

“Okie.” JP stood and walked off again.

“I didn’t know she was coming,” Kjellberg said, sipping at a drink Tom hadn’t noticed him get. “What about Peej and Sophie?”

“They opted to spend the evening together, where it was safer for both of them,” Foxglove said. “Besides, I don’t think it would be a good idea for her to see PJ. Not after what he did to Jack.”

“Good idea.”

That confirmed it, then. Liguori had killed one of the people he’d once called a ‘friend.’ Though from what several people had said, this Jack had tried to kill Liguori first, and that was probably a defining moment in their relationship.

“Madame Foxglove?” Tom asked.

“Yes, Fischbach?”

“...how did you meet my brother? What-” He paused to steady his voice. “What kind of a man was he around you?”

“A mutual friend introduced us when I first started looking to sponsor a speakeasy—start one, technically, so I didn’t have to deal with anyone’s preconceived notions.” Foxglove smiled sadly. “Your brother was a good man, Fischbach. If more men were like him, then the world would be a much better place.”

Tom had to take a deep breath to steady himself.

How much were the words of a queenpin worth? For this, apparently, they were enough.

“The Wiish,” JP interrupted dramatically, “has arrived.”

Tom looked over to see a small woman take the remaining seat at the table, and flinched when her eyes met his and filled with surprise.

“Molly- Molly, I need to talk to you, now.” Her soft voice caught Tom by surprise, with how urgent it was, but mostly he was confused.

“Of course.” Foxglove stood, and the two walked off to a corner.

“Who is she?” Tom asked softly.

Kjellberg sighed.

“Jack’s girlfriend. She came over six months ago to be with him here, but...” He made a face. “I don’t know why she hasn’t gone back to her family.”

“Crossing an ocean is hard,” JP said.

“It is.”

“Wade! Felix! Come here!” Foxglove called.

Both got up and wandered over, and Tom went to follow—it was his job to stay next to Kjellberg, after all—but JP put a hand on his arm.

“He’ll be okay for a few minutes. And she didn’t call you over for a reason.”

Tom frowned, but just turned to look at the group.

Kjellberg was looking shocked, and Wade angry, and then their expressions settled into some sort of grim determination.

“It’s my job, though,” he protested, more out of habit than anything.

“It’ll be okay,” JP assured. “As long as you can see him, it’ll be okay.” A pause. “At least, that’s what Cry told me.”

Tom turned to look at him. “You knew Cry?” Maybe he could get some information on this mysterious Faceless bodyguard.

“I mean, we didn’t talk a lot, but he seemed like a pretty nice guy. Did his best. Kinda awkward when he had to talk to people, but we all are sometimes.” JP shrugged. 

“Huh.” Tom leaned on the table, looking at the kid, before continuing. “...Did you know my brother?”

“Yeah.” JP rubbed the back of his neck. “He was a swell guy. Didn’t really care when I would walk in and distract Ethan with stories and talking. Listened a lot. He really did care about the people who visited Freddy’s.” JP paused, then sighed. “He talked about you a lot. The guy really loved you, you know that?”

“I-”

How many times had they fought, argued over the most nonsensical things? How many times had they gone days, weeks, even months without speaking to each other? How could Mark still possibly like him after that, much less love him?

“I know things were rough between you two,” JP said simply, “but that doesn’t mean he didn’t adore you.” He shook his head. “You should have seen the way he just... lit up when he talked about you and the things you were accomplishing. He was proud of you, no matter how much he disagreed with you.”

“I-” Tom’s voice choked, and he had to bury his hands in his head to hide the tears welling up in his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

JP gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Mark had been proud of him? How?

Tom wasn’t sure how long he sat there, mind spinning with this revelation, before Kjellberg’s voice broke into his thoughts.

“Fischbach-” 

“Felix,” Foxglove warned.

“I know, Molls. I know.”

Tom lifted his head to see Kjellberg standing next to him.

“We’re headed out for the night,” Kjellberg said by way of explanation, though that fierce light was still in his eyes. “I have meetings in the morning, and a call to make before it gets too late.”

“It’s after midnight, sir.”

“It is, isn’t it.” Kjellberg didn’t seem particularly deterred by that fact.

As they stood and collected their jackets and hats, Tom couldn’t help but think of the people he’d met and the things he’d learned. As he looked back at the table, Foxglove smiled at something someone had said. It was almost the same smile she’d been wearing in the photo with Mark.

As Tom looked around the room one last time, he had the undeniable realization that everything here smacked of Mark: the live music was something he’d do, the lighting was undeniably reminiscent of the Tiny Box, and even the glass shapes were ones similar to the ones Mark had picked out for the restaurant two years ago.

And the laughter and the smiles?

Mark was there too.

Tom stiffly followed Kjellberg out, trying not to cry.

“Kjellberg?”

“Hmm?”

“The next time you attend a speakeasy, please bring Morrison.”

He couldn’t handle seeing Mark in everything again. Not like this.

“Alright.”

Neither of them spoke on the drive home, and Tom retired to his room for some deep thinking and private grieving.

Felix, on the other hand, went to his office phone and dialed a number to a property he owned. And, when PJ answered, very simply said, “Mark’s alive. Mir has him.”


End file.
